


Concerto for Two Violins

by lady_ragnell



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Light Bondage, Orchestra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Gwaine and Morgana are friends with a generous benefits package, Arthur and Merlin might be breaking up, and everyone is in the Camelot Symphony Orchestra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerto for Two Violins

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/19600.html?thread=20074896#t20074896) at kinkme_merlin.
> 
> On the music:  
> 1\. The orchestra plays Faure's [Pelleas and Melisande](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsWOLuGu0i0) (that link goes to the first part of it, but the other three parts are right in the sidebar if you want to keep listening along). Morgana and Gwaine play the first movement of Bach's [Concerto for Two Violins in D Minor](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R68EOgq4YxU).  
> 2\. I have played in an orchestra, but it's been a while! I do not claim that this is how most orchestras are actually run (though it's certainly how the practices go).  
> 3\. The Suzuki method is mocked with love.

Morgana wakes up in the wet spot.

Actually, she discovers when she flails a hand out to find safe ground to move to, that is not entirely accurate. The entire bed is the wet spot. “Fuck you,” she mumbles into the pillow, because Gwaine isn’t next to her but the shower isn’t on so he’s lurking somewhere nearby. “I told you that was an unnecessary amount of lube.”

“You were the one who kept licking it off everything.”

“You managed to find flavoured lube that doesn’t taste horrible.” Morgana shoves her face out of the pillow and glances around. Gwaine’s bedroom is a complete mess, all the covers got shoved off the bed in the night, and she’s pretty sure her panties landed on the windowsill. Unless Gwaine is fond of green lace, which wouldn’t be terribly surprising. It’s generally best not to ask what Gwaine gets up to in his spare time. “Fucking ouch. I think I have a sex hangover.”

She finally locates Gwaine, who is lounging in the doorway to his bedroom wearing a dressing gown he hasn’t bothered to tie and leering at her. “I am going to petition the maestro to have at least one piece by a Russian per concert.”

Morgana doesn’t dignify that with an answer, because he enjoys mocking her for how she gets after the orchestra does Tchaikovsky or Stravinsky or Rachmaninov, especially now that he reaps the benefits. Instead, she levers herself to a sitting position and stretches the kinks out of her back. “What time is it?”

Gwaine squints around until he finds the alarm clock. Which is on the floor. Morgana tries to remember which one of them kicked it this time. They don’t even have alcohol as an excuse, this is just pitiful. “Ten,” he decides eventually, after twisting his head around to see the display properly.

“Shit.” Morgana struggles off the bed and tries not to touch anything, as she’s incredibly sticky and in desperate need of a shower she doesn’t have time to take at Gwaine’s, since if she showers at his place he always joins her even if he’s already showered on his own. “Mordred’s coming to my place at eleven thirty for his lesson, and he always gives me these _looks_ when I smell like sex. Am I wrong in thinking eight-year-olds shouldn’t know things like that?”

“Mordred is a deeply creepy child.”

“Oh, hush, he’s a love and you know it.” Morgana snags her panties off the windowsill and decides that considering they didn’t come off for quite some time into last night’s proceedings, she isn’t going to put them on again. She really needs to start keeping a change of clothes at Gwaine’s place, except that would make everyone ask really uncomfortable questions and all of her happily-in-long-term-relationships friends will be so disappointed when they figure out what she and Gwaine are doing. “Where’s my dress?”

Gwaine picks it up off the floor and brandishes it at her. It’s too short and sparkly to be anything but a walk-of-shame dress and all of London will know it, but she’s worn his clothes before and it’s generally even worse, so she’ll put up with it. “Someday Mordred is going to kidnap you and keep you in his closet until you get Stockholm Syndrome and agree to marry him when he turns sixteen.”

“If he keeps playing Boccherini as beautifully as he does perhaps I won’t object.” At that, Gwaine’s face is a picture. Morgana rolls her eyes and tugs her dress on over her head, pulling it down until she’s sure nobody on the Tube is going to get an eyeful. “Really, Gwaine, do you think I would? If nothing else, his mother is a nightmare. Nimueh is the worst backstage parent I’ve ever run across. Just because she couldn’t make the Orchestra when she was younger …”

“Do you want some breakfast?” Gwaine interrupts before she can get properly going.

“No, my mouth tastes of sex and body frosting, I need my toothbrush before I go anywhere near food.” Morgana dangles her panties from her hand. “Where’s my purse? I really can’t walk around carrying these without looking like a complete slag.” There’s a pause while Gwaine eyes her post-concert clubbing wear. “My purse, Gwaine,” she repeats, because there’s not much reply she can make to that.

“On the table, same place you always put it.” He yawns. “I need to get a second bed just for us to have sex on, so I can take post-hook-up naps without changing my sheets.”

Morgana wanders out of the bedroom in search of her boots, which probably got left in the hallway. “You’re just lazy. You even have a laundry room in your building, not all of us are that lucky.” Miraculously, her stockings are right next to her boots, so she picks everything up and sits in one of Gwaine’s mismatched kitchen chairs to pull them on. “Are the Wanderers playing the pub tonight? Merlin asked last night, but you weren’t around to ask.”

“Yeah, we’re playing a set. You coming?”

“To watch you waste your potential and doom yourself to staying with the second violinists forever? Wouldn’t dream of missing.” She tugs on the zipper of her right boot, which keeps on sticking. “Besides, everyone else will be there having a post-concert drink and I haven’t talked to anyone properly in weeks. For all I know Lancelot could finally have got off his arse and proposed. Though I think Gwen would have squealed loud enough for the whole continent to hear in that case.”

Gwaine punches a few buttons on his coffeemaker. “From what I’ve heard, you haven’t missed much. Merlin tells me everything, and he gossips worse than an old woman, so I would have heard anything interesting.”

“Unless Merlin and Arthur are having another honeymoon phase, they’re about due one.” She stuffs her panties in her purse and tries not to have flashbacks to university. “Especially with Merlin writing his great symphony, we all know there are going to be some virtuosic cello parts.”

“We’ll see if Uther lets the orchestra perform it. Arthur will obviously lobby quite hard for it.” And there’s all her things. “I’ll see you at the pub to watch you wasting your talent and your gorgeous instrument on _fiddling_ , yes? Have a lovely day.”

“Call me if Mordred tries to abduct you,” Gwaine returns, never looking up from his coffeemaker, and Morgana breezes out of his flat.

*

The pubs Gwaine and his little band play in invariably smell of pipe smoke and grease, and Morgana always wants to snatch away the instruments from all of them before they get damaged by the atmosphere. Tonight, Gwaine’s slouched in the corner of _The Dragon’s Head_ with the sort of posture that would make his first violin teacher roll in her grave, with Elyan nodding over his guitar and Freya perched on a stool with an assortment of whistles scattered around her.

The usual patrons of the seedy little bar seem rather confused to have it invaded by a bunch of musicians, some of whom order things that aren’t beer and all of whom sprawl over several tables and cheerfully heckle the band. They’re all a little giddy even after last night’s clubbing, relieved to be done with a concert that involved no less than three soloists from outside that could have been done much better by members of the Camelot Symphony Orchestra. Morgana included. But she’s trying very hard not to be bitter about that.

“What are you looking so serious about?” Merlin asks, jolting Morgana out of staring into space. “We’re meant to be relaxing.”

And everyone certainly is, or at least most of them. Gwen is blushing at something Lancelot’s said because he turns her into a fifteen-year-old girl even though they’ve been dating forever, Vivian is trying to talk Elena into being her wing-woman even though it’s pretty clear all Elena wants to do is stare soulfully at Leon, Percival is talking to Lancelot when Lance isn’t talking to Gwen, and Arthur and Merlin are pretending to have a great deal of fun and not talking to each other very much, even to tease. Morgana’s doing her best not to get involved in that, because it’s rare a month goes by when they don’t fight and all of them have learned to stay clear of the explosions by now. “I am relaxing,” she says over the noise of Gwaine and the band crashing into a close on one of their tunes. “I was just thinking about Mordred, Nimueh wants to start him on Vivaldi but I don’t really think he’s old enough for it yet. Just because those Suzuki children start him young doesn’t mean—”

“Yes, yes, we all know your feelings on Suzuki,” says Arthur with a roll of his eyes, just a little too brightly. “Honestly, Morgana, you are such a snob. Can you stop worrying about your little prodigy for a few hours and relax? God, you need to get laid, and you know it’s bad if _I’m_ saying that.”

“Yes, Arthur, obviously sex will solve all of my problems. Why didn’t I think of that before?” She very carefully doesn’t look at Gwaine. “I’ll just run right off to the bar and pull one of the ancient men with bad teeth, shall I? I imagine they’re animals in bed.”

That distracts Arthur neatly, but Merlin is still looking at her, not laughing or making faces. Morgana looks back, raising her eyebrows. She and Merlin are too much alike to be too close, but it also means he understands her better than most of her friends. If Arthur and Gwaine didn’t adore him so much, she would probably hate him. “You just need to listen to less angry music,” says Merlin at last, breaking eye contact. “All those Russians and Italians can’t be good for you. Try some Brahms, or something.”

Morgana makes a face, since everyone knows her opinion on the Romantics. “Arthur thinks I need sex, you think I need Brahms—”

“And I think you need to come and sing ‘Danny Boy’ with us,” says Gwaine, who’s snuck up behind her like a complete arsehole. She smacks him without even bothering to look at him.

“In your dreams.”

He leans over her shoulder to give her his best soulful look, which stopped working on her approximately half an hour after she met him. “Definitely. In my very best, dirty dreams, there you are like an Irish queen, singing ‘Danny Boy’ while riding me into—”

“Disgusting!” Vivian interjects, flapping her hands about like she isn’t sure whether she’d rather put them over her mouth to keep from retching or her ears to keep her from hearing more. Percival lets out a pained grunt of agreement. “Why do we let you anywhere _near_ us?”

“Because his eternal quest to get into Morgana’s pants is both hilarious and slightly sad,” says Arthur, and gives Gwaine a very serious look. “For your own good, mate, give up. I’m pretty sure she’s like a praying mantis in bed. Do you want to get your head ripped off?”

Gwaine’s hand tightens momentarily on her shoulder, but he’s grinning when he answers. “Depends on how euphemistic that is.”

Every man at the table makes a horrified face. “Masochist,” Vivian sniffs at last, and goes back to wheedling Elena into helping her with the man she’s got her eye on.

“Shrew,” Arthur mutters, and Merlin elbows him, but he’s looking at Morgana again. She keeps her face as impassive as possible, because while neither she nor Gwaine has told anyone what they’ve been doing for the last few months, if anyone figures it out, it’s going to be Merlin.

“Be gone, Gwaine,” says Morgana before anything more can be said. “The adults want to have a conversation.”

“Your cruelty breaks my heart, really.” Gwaine pats her on the head (and she is going to have to kill him if he messed up her hair) and wanders back towards Elyan and Freya, humming ‘Danny Boy’ as he goes. The band sits and chats for a few minutes, probably working out what medleys to play next while Gwaine does something with his phone.

Predictably enough, Morgana’s phone vibrates in her pocket just before Gwaine strikes up yet another cheery Irish tune. She doesn’t bother checking it, since judging by his smug grin it’s going to be something she doesn’t want the rest of her friends reading and Merlin keeps darting her glances. Instead, she ignores it in favor of getting in a spirited argument with Leon over whether or not the maestro’s choice of doing _Pelleas and Melisande_ at their next concert is a good one.

Morgana saves the text until she’s home in bed, later than she should be after a few very long days. _next time we get together remind me to eat you out kept meaning to last night_.

 _Next time you sext me, use punctuation,_ she sends back, and goes to sleep smiling.

*

The first orchestra rehearsal after a concert is always something of a joke. They get their first pieces of music, play a few measures of them, and then generally just sit around and gossip until the maestro gives up and sees fit to release them. Tonight, Uther just has his assistants hand out all four movements of _Pelleas and Melisande_ and has them play the first part of the first one.

Morgana tries to keep her face straight while they rehearse—Fauré is better than Brahms and Chopin but not by much, in her opinion, though Gwen must be grateful for the oboe solos. Gwaine pulls faces at her from the second violins and she texts him while the maestro is yelling at the violas to tell him to quit it. He texts her back to inform her that he isn’t wearing pants and she has to slap her phone back into her pocket because Alice is a wonderful stand partner but she’s also rather a prude.

In between measures, she catches up on the gossip from the other violinists and looks around to see what’s going on in the other sections. Vivian’s still with the second violins and looking rebellious about it, with Elena a few rows back in the same section and perfectly content because for best friends they are remarkably different. Gwen is frowning, lip caught between her teeth, as she marks something up on her score because normally the maestro doesn’t feature the woodwinds much and she gets nervous when he does. Percival is with the rest of the percussionists, who look about as pleased about _Pelleas and Melisande_ as Morgana feels (hopefully the rest of the music for the concert will give them something to do, or Percival at least. She may not be interested in dating him, but she doesn’t know a straight woman who dislikes the sight of a muscular man at the timpani). Lancelot and Leon are discussing something seriously from the front of the viola section, and Lancelot darts a glance over at the cellos.

Morgana follows the look automatically, expecting to see Arthur leaning back in his seat saying something sarcastic to Merlin and Merlin laughing at him from a few rows behind while Gaius looked on indulgently from the second chair Arthur ousted him to nearly a year ago now, but it’s not what she finds. Instead, Arthur is staring straight at his music, jaw set in a way she recognizes all too well, and Merlin is watching miserably, hand curled around the neck of his cello while he fingers something on it, probably one of his own compositions. She’s seen them fight—hell, everyone who’s known them for more than a week has seen them fight—but she doesn’t think she’s seen anything quite like this.

Neither of them are looking anywhere near the violins and Arthur hasn’t called her, so Morgana catches Gwen’s eye first, and then Gwaine’s, and once they’ve looked at the cellos and back at her, they exchange mutual looks of _what the fucking fuck is going on_ that neither of them seems able to answer any better than she can.

Before long, all their friends are exchanging a network of looks, telegraphing while the maestro harangues them for not paying attention well enough and then for their train wreck of an attempt at trying the first movement again, since half the orchestra isn’t paying any attention to their scores. Arthur and Merlin aren’t stupid, of course (well, it’s debatable for Arthur, but even he isn’t entirely blind), so within a few minutes both of them have figured out that people are looking at them. Arthur’s response is to glare even more fiercely at his score and play a good deal more angrily than Fauré calls for, while Merlin’s is to duck his head and try to look stoic.

Morgana would almost be sorry for starting it off, since it’s clear neither of them wants to even think about whatever fight they’ve had, but it would have happened anyway. The orchestra gossips like a lot of old biddies, especially on the subject of who is hooking up with whom (yet another reason she and Gwaine aren’t telling anyone they’re sleeping together), and Arthur and Merlin are practically an institution, the couple everyone knows, and even the maestro has stopped glaring at his son for daring to date another (male) cellist instead of a woman who will give him suitably musical grandchildren. A fight that isn’t bickering or one of their periodic explosions with both of them shouting dramatically at every opportunity will be enough to fuel chatter for weeks unless they fix it.

“If you are not going to rehearse, I am not going to waste my time!” the maestro shouts just as Morgana is attempting an elaborate conversation with Elena through eyebrows and mouthed words alone because Elena has forgotten her mobile again and can’t text on the sly like the rest of them. “All of you go home, and if you aren’t paying better attention by next week, there will be consequences!”

Morgana mouths the last few words along with him and sticks her score in her folder to practice later, waiting out the rush to get to instrument cases and go home. Arthur and Merlin, she can’t help but notice, practically dash for the exits as fast as they can carry their instruments, and they don’t go in the same direction.

Gwaine taps her on the shoulder with his bow, startling her and getting a smear of rosin on one of her favorite tops, and she turns around to glare. “I scrounged up a new mafia movie, want to come over and watch?” Morgana mentally extends that evening into a viewing of whatever horrible film he’s found this time and then whatever sort of shag they’re in the mood for, and weighs it against lurking by her phone until Arthur inevitably calls her to complain about whatever it is he and Merlin are fighting about. Gwaine knows her too well, because he rolls his eyes. “Let them sort whatever it is out on their own, they’re grown men for all Arthur doesn’t act like it.”

“Like Merlin isn’t an excellent example of the Peter Pan Syndrome in action,” Morgana says, mostly because she feels like she ought to be on her brother’s side.

“No, that’s me,” replies Gwaine, hauling her to her feet and making her yelp when he almost hits her violin with his bow. “See you lot later,” he calls to Vivian and Elena, who are chatting to Percival. Well, Vivian is chatting to Percival, Elena is edging slowly away. Morgana shrugs off Gwaine’s arm and waves as well, then gives a nod to Gwen, who’s already made a beeline for Lancelot so they can gaze at each other in a truly depressing manner. Leon, standing nearby, looks about as pained as Elena does. Gwaine interrupts before Morgana can debate the merits of rescuing either one of them. “Come on, you can worry about them later, let’s get out of here before everyone invites themselves along to movie night, shall we?”

“Men,” mutters Morgana, but her heart isn’t in it. Gwaine tows her by the elbow towards their cases and she shakes him off because being manhandled is a bit much for her to take. “You are insatiable,” she adds.

He just grins at her, utterly unrepentant. “That’s my middle name. Now come on, or I’ll have to carry you, which is difficult with two violins in the mix.”

*

“Hello there,” Gwaine croons into her chest later that night on his couch as the DVD plays its menu music for the sixth or seventh time.

“You have an unhealthy relationship with my breasts.” Morgana flails an arm out and catches the remote, turning the whole damn thing off and cutting everything off abruptly into silence and darkness.

“Hush, we’re having a _moment_.”

Morgana stares at the ceiling and heaves a long-suffering sigh (Gwaine makes an appreciative noise when her chest moves). “I could have stayed home, you know, and harassed Arthur to figure out what’s going on.”

“You have an unhealthy obsession with your brother’s love life.” He starts mouthing at her breasts through her shirt. “Would you really rather listen to him bitch than have me eat you out? Because nobody’s forcing you to stay.”

For a second, she considers arguing, but he has a point. “It’s not like there’s any other interesting gossip going on that doesn’t involve us,” she says, mostly for form’s sake.

Gwaine lifts his head and grins up at her. “True, I suppose the pool on when Leon figures out Elena is in love with him is getting a bit dull by now.”

“Exactly. That’s why all the interest in Arthur and Merlin.” And the fact that she would quite like to break Merlin’s fingers if he’s broken Arthur’s heart. However, judging by today it’s Arthur who’s done the breaking, and she isn’t sure quite what to do with that.

“It’ll all have blown over by tomorrow and they’ll come to pub night looking horrifyingly fucked out. As we could, if you would stop neglecting me.”

“The things I put up with,” says Morgana, and kisses him. She’s done the friends-with-benefits thing in the past and been told kissing shouldn’t be part of it, but she’s never understood it even if she folds, and she’s glad Gwaine’s never mentioned it, as he’s a really good kisser.

Tonight, it takes all of thirty seconds to figure out that he’s in one of his caveman moods, and while Morgana feels like she should dislike them on feminist principle, they always end up working out well for her, so she just rolls her eyes a bit and lets him lay her out like he wants her. When he goes back to working her over through her top, though, she shoves him away. He gives her a long-suffering look, which is rich. “What?”

“Through the bra, fine, but I like this shirt, and I don’t want it ruined.” She wriggles her way out of it while he takes the piss out of her for caring about clothes in the heat of passion, and takes his off as well because if he’s going to be a caveman she’s going to enjoy the view. “There, go to town.”

Gwaine kisses her on the nose, which she ponders being affronted by, and goes back to manhandling her, since his couch really isn’t large enough for two adults to do anything besides sit quietly on and he seems to have no intention of moving to the bedroom. Morgana mostly lets him, and makes the mistake of laughing when he nips at a ticklish spot on her stomach, since it means they devolve into a tussle of limbs and tickling and the only reason they manage to stay on the couch is because they catch themselves on the coffee table and manage to pull themselves back on, panting and pressed together.

Morgana’s half-expecting them to rub together like a pair of teenagers, considering his mood, or maybe for him to whip a condom out of one of the many mysterious places he seems to keep them in around his flat, but instead he gives her a devilish look, grabs her by the hips, and shoves her up until her ass hits the armrest. She clings to the top of the couch and gives him a glare while he just keeps grinning, working her panties off under her skirt as he goes.

He doesn’t bother much with foreplay, since apparently he’s a man on a mission and she’s been depriving him terribly. He pins her hips to the armrest with one hand, loops his other arm around her so she doesn’t go backwards, and nuzzles his way under her skirt. It’s a shock, from nothing to the wet, insistent press of his mouth in just a second, but she likes it that way, grabs tight to the back of the couch because otherwise she can’t see it ending well.

For all she thought Gwaine was feeling impatient tonight, he seems willing to lavish all his attention on using his mouth on her. He’s endlessly inventive whenever they’re together, about new positions or things to try, but Morgana’s never seen him focus everything in on just one thing like this and _God_ but he gives good head. She’s going to send fucking flowers to whoever trained him. He knows just how to use his tongue, his lips, the gentle scrap of teeth, even, to keep her tense and trembling and right at the edge. It doesn’t take much time until she’s impatient with it, wanting to come, wanting him to fuck her, but no urging, even when she gives in and asks for it, will make him speed up or move his hands so she can at least grind against him.

When he finally lets her come, what seems like ages later, she already feels near-boneless and assumes that he’s going to fuck her, but instead he just keeps on with what he’s doing. “I already came,” she manages when he slides two fingers up inside her and keeps licking around them.

Gwaine pulls out with a sloppy noise. “Yes, and you’re going to again,” he says, and dives back in.

Morgana doesn’t bother analyzing what he’s doing, this time, because she’s tired and trembly and she feels amazing but it _hurts_ , getting pushed this close to the edge again so soon, and he’s still taking his time about it. She moves one hand carefully to balance on his head, pushes down a little so he’ll get on with whatever his plan is for the night, unless it’s to bring her off with his mouth on the couch until they both pass out, which she wouldn’t put past him.

He takes mercy on her and lets her come more quickly this time, and they both stay there panting, his face turned into her thigh, mouthing absently at it while she attempts to piece her brain back together well enough to plan some revenge. She feels taken apart, and it’s hard to do anything but pet vaguely at Gwaine’s head in pitiful thanks and hold on to the couch with everything she has because she suspects the night isn’t over.

Like that’s some sort of cue, there’s the fumble of a key in the lock and before Morgana can do more than freeze and Gwaine can do more than pull his head out from under her skirt, Merlin comes bursting in, looking ready to spit. “Can’t stay with Arthur right now, so I’m sleeping on your couch to—oh my fucking God.”

And that’s the point when Morgana falls off the couch.

*

Ten minutes later, Morgana has a bottle of cold beer held to her head, and everyone is fully dressed and sitting around Gwaine’s kitchen table. Merlin is looking back and forth between them with the distinct air of a tacky dashboard animal, as if he’s not quite sure where to start.

“So, you and Arthur,” says Morgana, because someone’s got to take the initiative and she’s in favor of any initiative that involves not talking about her and Gwaine.

“So, you and Gwaine,” Merlin snaps back like he’s been just waiting for her to start. Gwaine rolls his eyes and holds his hands up like he’s preparing to hold them back if they lunge. Morgana leans back and adjusts her grip on the beer because she refuses to get into some sort of hair-pulling match with Merlin. Merlin spends another three seconds glowering before he slumps and mostly just looks tired. “Me and Arthur, but don’t think you two have got out of talking about whatever the hell that was on the couch, which, by the way, you’re sleeping on tonight, Gwaine.”

“You’re fucked either way, mate, Morgana and I have had sex on the bed as well.” Gwaine smirks as Merlin attempts to look pained. “Now, are you going to tell me what all this is about?”

Merlin looks at Morgana for a few seconds, mouth pursed, and she tries to look anything but exhausted and annoyed, because she really does know what a complete fool Arthur can be and she’s willing to at least hear what Merlin has to say. “We’re … I don’t think he’s broken up with me, precisely, but he’s also made it clear he doesn’t want me at the flat tonight. Or tomorrow night.”

Morgana makes sure to keep her gaze away from Merlin’s cello in the corner, which he lugged all the way here. That’s more telling than anything he just said. Gwaine, who knows he’s less likely to get Merlin’s hackles up by doing it, gives it a pointed look instead. “So what does he think you’ve done?” Merlin just looks at Morgana again, and Gwaine shifts until he’s blocking her from Merlin’s line of sight. “She isn’t even here, I just can’t let her go until we’re sure she doesn’t have a head injury.” Morgana whacks him with the beer, careful not to crack it, and he just grins before turning back to Merlin. “Now, what is it?”

“I did it. I … it’s sort of a stupid thing that got way out of hand. But I was lying to him because Edwin’s in town and Arthur never liked him so when he found out we’d been for coffee he turned it into this whole thing about cheating and then said he can’t trust me anymore and things have been sort of … frosty.”

Morgana and Gwaine wince in tandem. Gwaine met them in the orchestra, not in university, but everyone knows how Arthur gets about cheating. He was very understanding (for Arthur, which still meant recriminations and awkward dinners in the cafeteria and throwing a pair of Morgana’s designer shoes, damn him) when Gwen broke it off with him for Lancelot, but he gets testy about the thought of it since. For no good reason, as far as Morgana can tell, because he and Merlin are _stupid_ over each other. “Wait, he actually thinks you’re cheating?”

“I don’t know, I asked if he trusts me and he said he thought he did until he found out I was lying and then I might have called him an overprotective, jealous twat, and things sort of devolved from there.”

Gwaine seems a bit stunned by how comprehensively both of them have managed to ruin the best relationship either of them will ever have, or perhaps that’s Morgana projecting. Morgana opens her mouth to tell Merlin so, only to be interrupted by Gwaine, who kicks her before he speaks. “Well, that’s a bit of a train wreck, isn’t it?” Merlin nods miserably, face crumpling. Morgana hands him her beer even though her head still hurts like a bitch. She has no desire to see a grown man cry, especially not over her brother. “You didn’t break up, though.”

“No.” Merlin pops the top off the beer. Morgana’s head hurts more already. “He said he had to think about whether he could trust me again.”

“God, it’s sort of like listening to my parents fight,” says Gwaine, who’s never been very good at comforting people. “Isn’t it, Morgana?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she snaps, and kicks him in the ankle because Merlin is only looking more miserable, then stands up to pull a bag of frozen corn out of his freezer for her head. “Merlin, you know how Arthur gets, he’ll forgive you in a week, you’ll both apologize, and that will be the end of it.”

“I don’t think he will.” Merlin’s eyes get dangerously large and teary, and Morgana exchanges a panicked look with Gwaine when he looks mournfully down at his beer bottle. “You didn’t see his face.”

“Oh, Christ, don’t cry, I have a head injury and a lesson with Mordred where I’ll have to talk Nimueh down from Vivaldi in the morning, I cannot do this.” Morgana pulls her chair over next to Merlin’s and puts her arm around him, patting his shoulder awkwardly while he tries to get himself under control. “Tell anyone I’m doing this and I’ll cut you, just so you know.”

“A group hug sounds like an excellent idea,” says Gwaine, interrupting before Merlin can do more than snort softly, and leaps out of his chair to put his arms around both of them (and grope them both, because he’s Gwaine). Merlin leans into it almost immediately because he and Gwaine are just very large puppies, and Morgana joins with what she hopes comes across as a put-upon sigh a few seconds later. If either of them accuses her of cuddling she’ll just have to kill them.

“So,” Merlin says eventually from where his face has inexplicably become buried in Morgana’s shoulder. “The two of you. I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that maybe tonight wasn’t you giving into temptation at last or something.”

Morgana removes herself from the group hug. “Don’t make this into a romance novel, Merlin. We’re having sex. We have been for a few months now.” And it’s not serious because Gwaine doesn’t do commitment and Morgana has fucked up every relationship she’s ever had.

Merlin makes a series of faces that Morgana wishes she could take pictures of while he fits the last several months of dinners and pub nights and rehearsals into this new frame of reference. “You mean when Arthur was talking about praying mantises you were having sex?”

“Yes,” both of them say at once, Morgana with a great deal more annoyance.

His horrified look is enough to crack Gwaine up. “Okay. I’m not going to say this isn’t deeply disturbing, but it’s really not my problem tonight as long as Gwaine’s got a clean surface somewhere in this flat to sleep on, even if it’s the kitchen table.” Morgana bites her lip and carefully doesn’t look at Gwaine. “I did not want to know that,” Merlin says faintly.

“You asked for it,” says Gwaine.

Merlin rubs his hands over his face. “I guess. Look, you two just keep doing whatever you’re doing, all right? I’m not going to say I’m thrilled, but whatever, you’re adults and I’m not going to tattle.”

Morgana decides a tactical retreat is in order. Merlin probably needs to talk more, but he likely won’t say much with her there, and if he isn’t going to out them to their friends and the gossip of the whole of the orchestra, she owes him one. “Thank you, Merlin. Now, I’ll leave you lads to your gossip and take the Underground home. See you at rehearsal on Tuesday?”

“Yeah,” says Merlin, and pointedly looks away when Gwaine shows her to the door.

*

The next orchestra rehearsal is _excruciating_. They’re working on “La Fileuse,” the second movement of _Pelleas and Melisande_ , which is all quick runs of triplets for the violins and the sound of it resembles nothing so much as mud when it ought to be crisp. Morgana grits her teeth and concentrates on the music, trying to drag her section along behind her by sheer force of will, and ignores how Gwaine plays little slips of the phrasing like jigs in short breaks while Uther yells at one section or another. Half the woodwinds seem to have colds, so Gwen is carrying her section while trying to play a piece that features woodwinds for once when the maestro generally prefers the strings or even the brass. And the cellos …

Well. The cello section is like an episode of some American soap opera, only with less long-lost twins. Arthur is ignoring absolutely everyone (which is partly Morgana’s fault for yelling at him for being a jealous git and ruining her night as a result, though she didn’t mention that last part to him), sawing away at his instrument in a way that would fit Beethoven far better than Fauré. Gaius is looking more disapproving than usual, were that possible, and Morgana is starting to wonder if his face will actually stick with one eyebrow raised that high. Gilli in the back row is giving Merlin soulful looks that are even worse than usual, apparently having heard the gossip and wanting to win over his long-time crush. Merlin looks pale and exhausted, not even bothering to give Arthur soulful looks of his own, and whenever the maestro releases the cellos for even thirty seconds, he’s got his pencil in his hand, scribbling something—probably the score for his great symphony, which Gwaine told her the morning after Merlin moved onto his couch is nearly finished.

Something must be done, and obviously no one else is competent enough to do it.

When break comes, Morgana snags Gwaine by the collar before he can rush off to watch Vivian yell at Percival since apparently something’s going on there, because she has bigger fish to fry. “Right, you’re going to distract Arthur and talk about anything but Merlin while I figure out how to fix this, understood?”

Gwaine just arches a brow at her, and Morgana sighs. If she thought anyone else could actually help, she would pick someone who listens to orders. “What do I get if I follow orders, milady?”

Morgana smiles sweetly and pulls him down so she can whisper in his ear. “Then next time you get to choose which one of us gets tied up.”

He laughs, a little bit unsteady, when she releases him. “Consider me convinced. And you happen to be in luck, his team lost at footie last night, that’ll distract him if anything will.” Morgana makes a go-on gesture, and he salutes before he walks off.

Merlin is still scribbling at his score, and Morgana looks around before she goes over, only to catch Elena’s eye. Elena looks between Morgana and Gwaine, brows drawn closer in confusion or suspicion or something close to it, then over at Vivian, then over at the cello section. When she looks at Morgana again, Morgana shakes her head, and hopes that takes care of at least part of it, and since Elena turns to go after Vivian before she goes for Percival’s balls, it works, at least for the time being. Morgana shakes it off and crosses the orchestra set-up, passing Arthur’s outraged look to stand in front of Merlin and plant her hands on her hips.

It takes Merlin a full five seconds to look up at her. “What do you want, Morgana?”

“This is unacceptable. And I thought I could handle the two of you being pathetic sadsacks, but it seems I can’t. So we’re going to fix this.”

Merlin puts his pencil down and crosses his arms defensively over the neck of his cello like he’s afraid Morgana might take it from him. “Do you think I haven’t tried? I’ve called him, I’ve gone to the flat, I’ve sent him fucking Facebook messages, but all he says is that he needs more time.”

“That’s because he’s being stubborn.” She grins. “It’s a family trait, I’m afraid.”

Merlin looks vaguely terrified. Good. “Oh God. What are you going to do?”

Morgana snatches the score off his music stand while he’s still clutching his cello like he’s afraid she’s going to cut the strings or do something equally heinous, as if she would. Not even she’s that evil. Merlin makes a protesting noise, but doesn’t make a scene while she runs through the score at triple-time. Three movements, the last only half-finished, but remarkably good. She hadn’t expected that, but then, she hasn’t heard any of his compositions since university. As she’d expected, there are some lovely parts that feature the cello, ones written not because Merlin’s a cellist himself but because he’s in love with one. She’s not much of a composer, but she does recognize that much. “It’s about Arthur, right?”

“What?”

“You wrote it for Arthur. To play, to listen to, whatever.” She squints at the title in Merlin’s penciled scrawl. “The Dragon Symphony, my God, do you actually think you’re being subtle?” She drops it back on his music stand. “Excellent. You have a week to finish it.”

“What?”

“A week. To finish it and get it put in something electronic and legible and get all the parts printed off properly. We’ll need to get started rehearsing if we want to do it in the same concert as _Pelleas_ , you expect a lot of your instruments.”

“Morgana, I can’t finish this in a week, are you mad? I won’t have time to sleep.”

“With the greatest of sympathy and affection, it’s not like you’re doing anything else right now. You’re sleeping on Gwaine’s couch and applying for teaching positions, which can wait a week. This needs to be finished.”

“What for? The maestro isn’t going to allow this to be performed, in case you’ve suddenly got an attack of amnesia. It’s not part of the symphonic canon.”

Morgana smirks down at him, then looks over to where Uther is on the phone to someone, probably Catrina in the Camelot Arts Office. “You worry about getting your piece finished in time, I’ll worry about the maestro.”

“I’m doomed,” Merlin realizes.

Morgana looks from Uther, who she barely speaks to most days, to Arthur, who’s trying to pretend he isn’t hurt that Morgana seems to be taking Merlin’s side, to Gwaine, who catches her eye from where he’s trying to cajole Arthur into a smile and gives her a helpless shrug. “Well,” she says, “at least we’re all on the same page.”

*

“Merlin has taken over my entire flat with his computer and several metric fucktons of manuscript paper. Why do I feel like you’re behind this?”

Morgana laughs and pries her eyes open to check the clock by her bed. Gwaine is up early. “Probably because I am.”

“Do I want to know more?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“In that case, there was a point to this phone call. And that point is that I can’t stay in my flat while Merlin is sitting in there tearing his hair out and muttering vicious slander about the second violins.”

“Are you wrangling for an invitation?”

“Obviously. I’m five minutes away, and you mentioned bondage last night. Did you think I wasn’t going to take you up on it as soon as possible?” Morgana winces, but it’s not like anyone in the neighbourhood is going to know who he’s talking to, or who he is, even. “Do you have any big plans for today?”

“Being tied up, apparently.” She looks at the clock again. It still says it’s just barely after eight thirty. “Honestly, who is that kinky before nine in the morning?”

“Like you aren’t getting hot thinking about it,” says Gwaine, not even talking dirty, just making conversation. “And anyway, you said I get to choose who gets tied up. Who says it’s going to be you?”

Morgana covers the mouthpiece on her phone so he can’t hear her take a shaky breath, but from his smug chuckle her silence is answer enough to that. “I stand corrected, and now I’m going to hang up so I can find equipment and clean my teeth before you get here.”

“See you in a few minutes,” he replies, leer clear in his voice, and hangs up before she can get the last word in.

It takes three minutes to clean her teeth, put on something sexier than track pants and one of Arthur’s old t-shirts, and find the white silk scarves she won at a bachelorette party. Gwaine buzzes her less than thirty seconds later, and she lets him up and opens the door before he can disturb her neighbours by pounding on it. “You really have nothing better to do on a Wednesday morning than booty call me?” she asks, mostly for form’s sake.

“Practice with Elyan and Freya later, but nothing this morning.”

“So I don’t get you all day?”

Gwaine steps past her into the flat and shrugs his jacket off onto the rack she has by the door. “Oh, I don’t know. That depends. I could be convinced to call Elyan and tell him I’m all … tied up.”

“Would you mind if we had breakfast before I have my wicked way with you? I imagine I’ll be hungry by lunch and it would be a shame to have to leave you all tied up while I put something together in the kitchen.”

At that, Gwaine rubs his hands together. “So I finally get to see how you like your eggs in the morning.”

Just for that, she makes toast instead.

After, she puts her phone on silent, filches Gwaine’s and stuffs it in his coat pocket, and puts all the locks on her door just in case Merlin or Arthur gets a bright idea about stopping by to mope. Gwaine just laughs at her and smacks her on the rear to move her towards the bedroom when she surveys her flat looking for other potential interruptions.

When they get to her room, Gwaine just looks around for a few seconds, eyebrows raised, and it occurs to Morgana that he hasn’t been in it before. He’s been in her flat, definitely, along with the rest of her friends, but since they started having sex it’s always been at his. Past time for her to host, then, she decides, and shoves him at the bed. “Trust you to have an actual four-poster you can tie me to,” he mutters, but he goes, picking up her ties on the way and collapsing on his back with no grace whatsoever.

“Shirt off,” she orders. “It’s not coming off otherwise, not if I’m tying your wrists.”

He takes it off, still grinning at the ceiling like he’s having the best day ever, and Morgana goes to work on the button of his jeans while reflecting how much she hates starting things like this up. Having someone all tied up for her, or even being tied up, is always amazing, but the logistics of getting there are another thing entirely.

She undresses him, mostly for something to do while she figures out the knots and what she’s going to do with him while she has him at her mercy because of course Gwaine fucking calls her for sex when her brain isn’t engaged yet, then snatches the white silk out of his hands. “You sure about this?” she asks. Neither of them has backed down from a challenge yet, but they still ask.

“More than. And I can always do it to you later.”

“Good.” She runs one of the strips of cloth between her fingers and moves to straddle Gwaine’s chest. “Wrists together or apart?”

“Apart.”

Morgana catches Gwaine’s left wrist and ties one of the scarves around it, testing the knot to make sure it won’t cut into him, then leashes the other end around her bedpost, pulling it taut. “Will that hurt?” He pulls at it, and there’s just enough give for him to bend his elbows a bit. He shakes his head, and Morgana moves to the other wrist, repeating the process. “Okay. Any strain?” Another shake of the head. This one comes with a smirk, and she pinches him. “Tell me to stop if it hurts more than you want it to.”

“Don’t worry, I can take it.” She pinches again, harder, and he laughs. “Fine, fine, if it’s too much I’ll tell you.”

“Good.” There are four scarves, but she doesn’t really want to bind his ankles, so she tosses the other two off the bed and bends down to kiss him. Gwaine shifts, leaning to try to follow her when she backs off a bit, and she feels the hitch in his breath when he realizes he can’t move that far. Just for that, she kisses him harder, pressing him back into the pillows and grabbing onto one of his hands, feeling around at the silk binding his wrist and tugging it just because it makes him bite her lip. He grabs back, twisting his hand around until the silk is looped awkwardly around her wrist too, binding them together even though it’s got to be straining his shoulder worse. “If you keep me here, I can’t blow you,” she whispers into his mouth, only half worrying if he can hear her.

“I can still fuck you,” he points out, moving his lips to her jaw, then her neck. She shoves his head back gently; if he strains his neck she’s never going to hear the end of it and Merlin is going to look mortified _forever_.

“Not without a condom you can’t.” She squirms against his erection, which is growing by the second. “So let me free for a minute to get one, would you?” He releases the loops and relaxes back into the headboard while she looks in the bedside drawer, ignoring Gwaine’s snort when she rifles past her vibrator. She makes a note to take it out sometime when he’s over and finally seizes a condom that isn’t out of date.

Morgana doesn’t settle onto him the second the condom is rolled on like she normally would. Instead, she goes back to kissing him, taking his hand again so he can lace their fingers together, though he doesn’t bother looping her back into the binding. She grinds up against him, doing the work for herself that he would normally do with his hands or his mouth, until she’s ready to take him, and then she moves down his body until she can sink down on his cock.

Even tied up and unable to grab her hips, Gwaine is pushy. He snaps his body up into hers, bracing with his legs and straining against her headboard, which starts creaking with every thrust, making her feel as if she’s back in university and pounding on the wall to shut up her neighbours. Morgana doesn’t let him go too fast, though. They’ve got all morning, and they were interrupted the last time they tried to have sex, so she keeps the pace slow and steady, letting her blood pick up bit by bit instead of all at once.

Morgana comes first, using her free hand to reach between them and make it happen because she can see how close Gwaine is, and she rides it out, letting him drive deep as he comes, taking all his weight on his arms for a second while he groans. She puts her face to his chest as they both pant it out.

When they’ve both recovered, Morgana levers herself off him, both of them making faces as he slips out of her and she pulls off the condom and ties it off, tossing it neatly in the wastebasket by the bed. That done, the unties the knots at his wrists and starts moving them around. “So soon?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. “I was expecting you to want another round.”

“You’ll be no use at practice later with sore shoulders,” says Morgana, prodding him. “Now turn over and I’ll give you a massage, and if you’re very good, I’ll let you tie me up next.”

*

“Morgana! Darling!” Catrina exclaims when Morgana walks into the Camelot office.

Morgana pastes on a smile. “Catrina! Lovely to see you. Is the maestro in?”

Catrina, effusive greeting over with, gives her a suspicious squint, trying to decide if this is one of the days when Morgana and Uther get into a shouting match or if it’s one of the ones where they’re going to be cordial. Morgana really doubts the latter, given what she’s here to talk to him about. “Yes, I suppose he can fit you in. He’s just got off the phone with that Canadian violinist he wants to bring in sometime next year.”

Much as Morgana would love to take Catrina to task for always looking so smug about Uther never featuring his own players, she has bigger fish to fry. “Lovely. I won’t be long, I’m sure.” Without waiting for further comment, she strides past the reception desk and pushes Uther’s door open.

“Ah, Morgana,” says Uther when he looks up from his papers. He looks tired more than anything else, which gives her a bit of hope. Sometimes she can nag him into giving her what she wants when he’s tired, even when it’s something this big. “What can I do for you today? Are you here for lunch?”

She could almost feel guilty for avoiding spending time with him since she found out he’s her father, if he looked the slightest bit interested in her company. “I can stay for lunch, if you wish, but I actually came on business.”

Uther rubs his temples. “For the hundredth time, Morgana, it’s good press to bring in soloists from other areas—”

Morgana throws the first movement of Merlin’s score on the table between them, keeping the title page to herself. The maestro’s got to see the music before he sees the name, or this won’t work. “This isn’t about giving me solos.” And it’s not. Other than one little sweet featured duet in the slow movement Merlin seems to have his focus on other instruments.

“What is this?”

“Look at it.”

He was the one who taught her how to read a score, when she couldn’t sleep after moving into his mausoleum of a mansion after her da died, so she knows just how he’s sounding it all out in his head as he turns pages, going carefully through the first movement. A few times his forehead wrinkles—there are rough spots, and Merlin doesn’t always do the expected—but mostly he looks reluctantly impressed, at least until he looks up at her. “What do you want me to do with it? It’s not part of the symphonic canon, so we don’t play it. Is it yours? I know of a few publishing houses that might be willing to give it a look, circulate it to some of the less prestigious—”

“We’re premiering it with _Pelleas_. World premiere.”

Uther sighs. “We only do works that are well-established and you know it, Morgana. This isn’t a pops orchestra or your friend Gwaine’s little band.”

“This isn’t pops music. Look at the slow movement.” She pulls it out of her bag and drops it in front of him. She knows the piece is a hard sell, by an unknown composer and still being edited, but if the slow movement doesn’t convince everyone nothing will.

It takes longer, this time. Uther goes through the first few phrases at tempo, then scowls and goes back and does it just a hair slower—she’ll have to tell Merlin she told him so—and works through the whole piece like that before going back to dwell on a few of the especially lovely spots. Morgana keeps as still as she can, and when he looks back up at her, she raises her eyebrows. “We haven’t premiered a symphony since—”

“Since Ygraine’s last one. I don’t care. This one is worth it. It’s still being edited, but it will be at least nine tenths ready by our next rehearsal.”

“Is this yours?”

Morgana shakes her head. “I told you. It’s not about me.” It’s not even so much about getting Merlin and Arthur back together, although she wants to smack their heads together all the time as they’re miserable without each other. “Do you think it’s good?”

“It’s rougher than I would like, but yes. A friend’s, then?” She finally hands him the title page, and watches his expression change, first at the title she can’t convince Merlin to change and then at the unobtrusive ‘M. Emrys’ at the bottom of the page. “Ah. Of course. I thought he and Arthur were done with each other.”

“They’re readjusting, and that has nothing to do with the music. This isn’t refusing to hire Arthur or me as a soloist so you won’t be accused of nepotism, that’s your own business. But can you imagine what people are going to say, in five years when this is being played in all the halls and they find out it was written by one of our cellists?”

“That’s not going to convince me.”

Morgana puts the last of the music down. The third movement was finished just before dawn, and she and Gwaine spent the morning putting it into the software and getting it printed while Merlin slept. It still needs work, but she can see how it will look when it’s done and they certainly won’t be the first orchestra getting new parts from the composer at every rehearsal. “Look through it all. Imagine it once it’s been brushed up. Forget about who wrote it if Merlin bothers you that much. I think he’d rather if his name didn’t come into it until the premiere anyway, because of Arthur.” Uther makes a face like he swallowed a lemon. “Just go through it. We’ve got all the parts copied off for you. And while God knows this orchestra isn’t about what will make your musicians happy, I can tell you know that everyone would far rather do this with _Pelleas_ than bloody Handel again.”

Uther sighs. “I can’t promise you anything, Morgana. I have to talk it over with the board of directors, for one thing.”

“A twenty-something cellist from our very own orchestra? They’ll eat it up with a spoon.”

“Nevertheless. The decision isn’t mine alone.” Even though it is, and the board of directors lets him rule with an iron fist aside from the occasional quibble from Geoffrey. “Give me the boy’s phone number, would you? I want to have the option of calling him with the news either way.”

Morgana scribbles it down on a piece of paper. She won’t get more out of him. “He wrote it for Arthur,” she comments, and lets him draw his own parallels.

Uther sighs. “I can’t promise anything, Morgana. Now, did you want to stay for lunch? It’s been a while since you stopped by.”

“A while” means the eight months since their final blowup about her parentage, and she’s not sure she’s ready to be around him without Arthur yet. “I’ve got plans for lunch, I’m afraid. I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

With that, she gives him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and leaves the office, waving to Katrina on her way. Gwaine’s making omelets for the three of them for lunch and she should give them an update on the meeting.

*

Morgana slams into Gwaine’s flat three days later, violin case in hand. “Get out your instrument,” she snaps.

Merlin, from the couch, makes a horrified noise when Gwaine leers. “I’m _right here_.”

“His violin, you horrible perverts. I need to play Bach before I rip someone’s head off. I can’t believe he’s fucking _blackmailing_ me into doing lunch with him. I hope you and Arthur appreciate what I’m sacrificing, Merlin.” Merlin wisely just gives her a wide-eyed look and sinks back down into whatever edits he’s doing today.

Gwaine, of course, is completely unimpressed, which is why she likes him so much. It doesn’t stop her wanting to beat him over the head when she’s this annoyed, but nothing much does and at least he doesn’t make it worse. “I think technically it’s extortion,” he points out, but he’s getting up and getting out his violin case, which is what matters. “And why do you need me to play Bach? The man wrote enough for solo violin. Unless … is the great Morgana Lafayette deigning to play something sullied by the Suzuki method?”

“Bach is impossible to sully,” says Morgana, and sets her case on the kitchen table to get her violin out.

“So,” says Gwaine, tightening up the hairs on his bow, “the maestro is extorting the pleasure of your company in return for considering Merlin’s symphony?”

“He hasn’t said so in as many words, but it was definitely the implication.”

“Nice to know I can get by on my own merits,” mutters Merlin from the couch.

“Shush. If he didn’t want to do it, he would have said no straight out and waited for another opportunity to bait me into his idea of father-daughter bonding.” She checks the strings—all still in tune from this morning’s lessons. “He’s just trying to get everything he can out of me because I’m the one who brought it up to him.”

Gwaine checks his tuning. “Is your A good?” She plays one and they both get in tune with each other in the matter of half a minute. They haven’t played together outside of orchestra too much, but there have been a few string quartets at weddings and such, so they’ve got enough of a routine down to tune without too much fuss.

“Can you do this in a different room?” Merlin asks before they can get settled where they can see each other. “It’s going to be hard to work with Bach blasting in my ears.”

“It’s like you’re asking for the music to be foreplay,” says Gwaine, but he leads the way to the bedroom nonetheless. Morgana tries not to look at Merlin as they go. She’s still not used to anyone else knowing she and Gwaine are sleeping together, and all of it feels even more sordid with Merlin watching their every move and looking pained about it. When they get in, he shuts the door and perches on the edge of the nightstand while she stays standing. “I’m assuming I’m playing second?”

Morgana shrugs. “I know both parts. If you’d prefer I start us off, I’m willing.”

In answer, Gwaine starts off, still slumping against the nightstand but playing the notes lovely and crisp. His violin teacher back in the day must have cried at all the wasted potential. Morgana waits through the opening phrases before coming in herself, straightening up and calming down so she won’t speed through it. She may be angry at Uther for forcing her hand, but ruining Bach is a crime she wouldn’t forgive herself for. If she wants to get sloppy and furious later, there’s always Beethoven.

They’ve discussed their love for the concerto before, so Morgana isn’t surprised that Gwaine’s memory of the score is perfect, or that after the first few measures and a challenging smile when she comes in he closes his eyes and just enjoys the music, the way he does when he’s playing his fiddle tunes. She is surprised at herself for enjoying playing like this, unrehearsed and just for the two of them. She likes practice, the satisfaction of knowing she’s getting better, but she doesn’t often enjoy it just for itself.

When they finish, crashing to a slightly awkward stop because Gwaine seems to feel the need to slow down whenever he finishes playing _anything_ , Morgana takes a few seconds just to relish the silence, eyes closed. She hasn’t played Bach much since university, since the maestro only takes him out on very special occasions and Morgana can’t bear to hear him played badly so doesn’t bother assigning any of his work to most of her students.

“Ready to talk about whatever’s wrong?” Gwaine asks when she opens her eyes, back to grinning at her.

“Uther using Merlin’s symphony as a bargaining piece to get me to speak to him, Arthur refusing to speak to me because he thinks I’ve taken Merlin’s side even though he’s speaking to Merlin, Nimueh being like a dog with a bone over Mordred and Vivaldi … I am having a shit week, basically.”

“And you came over for Bach instead of sex?”

“You have Merlin on your couch and he looks like I’m outraging your maiden virtue every time I look at you these days, so yes, Bach.”

Gwaine laughs before moving to sit on the bed, bouncing a few times and patting the space next to him. Morgana rolls her eyes and joins him, resting her bow across her lap and her chin on the scroll of her violin. He puts an arm around her. “Merlin’s not so upset about it as all that, he just likes taking the piss out of me. He said he didn’t mind when I asked in private, at least.”

Before Morgana can ask exactly how much they’ve talked about it, Merlin knocks on the door. “What?” she calls, which he takes as a sign to come in.

He just raises his eyebrows at the sight of the two of them sitting on the bed, instruments in their laps and Gwaine’s arm around Morgana. “If you two are finished with Bach, I’ve edited the violin parts in the slow movement and I need guinea pigs.”

*

At the next rehearsal, they spend the first half on the “Sicilienne” from _Pelleas_ , the section the most people would recognize and, thankfully, both the easiest and the shortest. Uther hasn’t given Morgana a final answer one way or the other, so she’s impatient the whole time, to the point of missing a few obvious cues. Looking to Merlin is no help—he and Arthur tried going out on a date, to try to work themselves out, and it all degenerated into recriminations again, so he’s staring at his stand in misery and probably composing a cello concerto. If the symphony doesn’t work, she’s going to have to resort to drastic measures. Gwaine just shrugs when she looks over at him and goes back to sniping at Vivian, who’s in fine form.

Uther spends the whole of the break on the phone, but Morgana squints at him instead of talking to any of her friends, waiting, even when Gwaine squeezes her shoulder and makes a face trying to get her attention. After, when they’re all about to turn back to review the “Fileuse,” the maestro holds up a hand instead, and then picks a folder up off his stand. “Tonight, we’ll be practicing one of our other pieces for the concert.” His mouth pinches for just a second, and that’s when she knows they’ve done it. “A world premiere from a promising young composer,” he adds, like the words hurt to say, and Morgana watches Arthur’s and Merlin’s heads snap up in unison while everyone else starts whispering. By the time Arthur turns around, though, looking startled and a little bit hurt, Merlin is looking back at the maestro, biting his lip.

Uther raps his baton on his stand, quieting them before anyone can ask who the composer is, why now, why this piece. “You will read this, I trust, with more attentiveness than you have been giving to the Fauré, because Camelot is taking a chance on this piece and I will not have it ruined. We may receive edits as the concert grows closer. I expect you to keep up with them and keep your scores up to date.”

With that, he hands the parts out to the section leaders, who pass them around. Morgana takes her parts and tries to look as attentive as everyone else. The title is on there, _Dragon Symphony_ because nobody could talk Merlin out of it, but where the composer’s name is, there are just initials: _M.A.E_. It’s enough that some of their friends are darting glances at Merlin and that Arthur isn’t even pretending to look at his score, just staring at his father, but Merlin keeps his eyes on his stand, fingering through a few of the parts.

What follows is another shock to the way Camelot usually does things. The maestro always works every tiny section before allowing a read of their pieces all the way through, but he tells them to open to the first movement, first section, they’re going to play through it. That starts out another spate of whispers, but Uther puts a stop to it quickly, raising his baton and waiting to give the downbeat.

They play.

The first twelve measures are a disaster of everyone scrambling to read their scores while still trying to telegraph looks about why the maestro has chosen now to leave his usual path, and Morgana’s afraid it’s not going to work, but then it straightens itself out all at once when the timpani comes in, Percival exactly on beat because he’s been bored these past few rehearsals. She spares a glance at the cello section just in time to see Merlin’s shoulders relax.

It isn’t perfect. There’s a section in the first movement where Merlin was trying something experimental with the harmonies that he really shouldn’t have tried, Uther’s tempo on the slow movement is just a shade too fast to make it as lovely as Morgana knows it can sound from her sessions with Gwaine and Merlin, and Arthur fumbles a cello feature in the third movement not because it’s difficult but because he can’t seem to keep his attention on the music. It isn’t perfect, but it’s _good_.

After the run-through, the maestro releases them early and strides out just like a normal night. Morgana lets Alice chatter to her while she packs up her instrument, but mostly keeps her eyes on her friends. Lancelot’s figured it out, she thinks, but Merlin’s already out the door while she thinks it, so nobody will have anything confirmed tonight. Arthur’s jaw is tight while Gaius talks to him, and she’ll have to fix that later, but she thinks they’ve made progress, so she’ll leave it for now. Vivian has already collected Elena and Gwen and Leon to chatter about the sudden change in plans, and Percival is edging over to Lancelot, so maybe he’s figured it out as well.

“Well, that went pretty well,” says Gwaine from behind her.

She turns around, case in hand. “I’d say so.” She glances around. Alice has moved off to talk to Gaius, so it’s safe enough. “Want to come to mine after you talk Merlin down from whatever crisis he’s having?”

He grins. “He’ll be wanting to burn the whole thing for not being good enough to make Arthur sag into his arms, I suspect. It may take a while.”

“Well, I don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.” Gwaine leers, and she elbows him. He grabs her hand in response, and she thinks about reminding him they’re in public, but no one’s really looking, and even if their friends wouldn’t approve it’s not like they’re doing anything wrong. “Come over whenever, I’ll be up late.”

“I’ll be over just as soon as I keep our Mr. Beethoven from doing something drastic like drunk-dialing his not-quite-boyfriend.” Gwaine gives her hand a squeeze and walks off.

Only to be replaced by Arthur, barely a minute later. Morgana spares a second to wonder if he’s cottoned on, but he seems to have other things on his mind, because he’s holding onto his case as he nods towards the door, so she walks him out. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s Merlin’s, isn’t it? The symphony?”

“How should I know?”

“I’m not stupid, Morgana, and father has always let you talk him into anything. Is that Merlin’s symphony? He was going to—it wasn’t finished, and he wouldn’t let me see until it was, so I don’t know, but it seems like something he would write.”

“For fuck’s sake, Arthur, you’re a grown man. Ask him yourself,” she says, and hails a cab to shove him into so he won’t have to take his cello on the underground. “You’re both just being stubborn now. Break up with him, if you’re just going to act like an immature twat.” He goes stricken at the very thought, and Morgana nods. “Or talk it out, or let him woo you with the symphony if it is his, or something. But at the moment, you are making all of us suffer, or hadn’t you noticed that we’ve barely had a pub night since you and Merlin have been on the outs?”

She slams the cab door while Arthur is still looking chastised and tells the driver his address, letting them drive off before starting the walk back to her own flat. Her phone goes off before she’s even walked ten feet. _Beginning to think we should just lock them in a closet,_ Gwaine’s texted, and she has to agree.

*

“I’m going to kill someone if we get another round of edits on that symphony next week,” Vivian announces at post-rehearsal drinks three weeks later, and a round of hear-hears goes up around the table. Some of them are more pointed than others, but Merlin just stares at his drink, attempting to look innocent. Badly. How Arthur possibly thinks he could be lying about cheating she has no idea.

“We’ll all help,” says Morgana, because if Uther gets much more annoyed with Merlin’s edits he’s going to explode and she’s going to take the fall for it just for bringing the symphony up to him in the first place.

Arthur scowls. “I won’t. Someone needs to bail you lot out of prison.” And he won’t help Merlin, but nobody’s mentioning aloud that Merlin wrote the symphony they’re premiering even though it’s almost painful how obvious it is. It’s anyone’s bet if Arthur would say it even if it were being said aloud, though. Merlin’s moved back into their flat after catching Gwaine and Morgana snogging one too many times, but he’s sleeping in the spare room and he and Arthur fight every time they try to have a conversation because they’re both too damn stubborn.

“I’ve never been caught yet,” says Gwaine, and tosses his arm around the back of Morgana’s chair.

“Aside from that public decency arrest,” Leon points out. Gwaine just waves a hand, dismissing him. “And the one where you punched that bloke and started a barfight.”

“No, you misunderstand. I’ve never been caught for _murder_.”

Normally, Arthur or Merlin would chime in there and say something biting, but they’re both too busy looking pale and upset. It’s a miracle they’re both at the pub at the same time, though, so Morgana steps in before the silence can stretch out too much. “In that case, we’ll appoint you head of the assassination squad.”

“Not that we would,” Gwen says from down the table, just realizing that Merlin’s looking more miserable by the second. “It’s lovely music. Just, all the edits make it hard to get used to it.”

After that, everything splinters into smaller conversations, and Morgana allows herself to relax a bit and stop nursing her drink. Vivian is talking Elena’s ear off about something, Gwen and Lancelot are telling Percival about the trip to Paris they’re planning for after the concert (and Morgana would bet any money Lancelot will propose while they’re there), and Leon seems to be valiantly attempting to cajole Arthur out of his black mood. That leaves Morgana and Gwaine to take care of Merlin. Again. She leaves it to Gwaine, mostly, who chooses to try to cheer Merlin up by making increasingly obvious innuendos that just leave Merlin looking pained and looking between them in a way that would be really obvious if anyone but him knew.

Somehow, though, it’s the right thing to do. Not because it cheers Merlin up any, but because after half an hour of Gwaine’s intermittent leering Arthur stands up abruptly. Morgana holds her breath, half-expecting him to flounce out for no particular reason just to remind them all he’s upset, but instead he walks to her side of the table and claps his hand down on Merlin’s shoulder. “Come on, you don’t look very well, let’s get you home.”

Merlin just stares up at him with stupid cow-eyes until Morgana gets Gwaine to elbow him. “Um, yes. Hold on a second, let me just—”

Leon loudly interrupts when Merlin starts rummaging through his wallet. “We’ll cover it, don’t worry. You two just go ahead out.”

Everyone watches in shocked silence while Arthur and Merlin leave the pub together, barely managing to pull together something resembling a collective mumble of goodbye. Morgana counts three seconds once they’re out of earshot before Vivian lets out a shrill whisper of “Well, it’s about time!” and starts off the round of gossip.

Things take on a rather celebratory air after that. Morgana allows herself some satisfaction, even though she doesn’t expect that Arthur will be smart enough to let bygones be bygones after the make-up sex they’re undoubtedly on their way to have. Still, it’s progress, so she has another drink and leans against Gwaine’s side under cover of being tired. Elena gives them a sideways look, but she’s been doing that a lot lately and Morgana really doesn’t want to deal with it yet, so she does her best to ignore it.

“I have a prospective student and her mother stopping by in the morning,” she says at last, tipsier than she normally likes to be. “I’m heading home to get some sleep. I’ll see you all soon.”

Gwaine clamps his hand on her shoulder before she can shrug him off and leers at her just the same as always. “Do you want an escort home?”

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” she says loud enough for everyone, and then leans closer. “Too tired. I’ll call you tomorrow, though.” He gives her a broad wink for everyone else’s benefit and a smile for hers, and lets her up to say her goodbyes.

Most everyone’s deep enough in their drinks that nobody so much as bats an eyelash while they wave her off, but Elena’s still watching them with a look of dawning understanding and it isn’t really a surprise when she hears her making a loud and obviously false excuse about being tired when Morgana’s almost out of the pub and running after her. Morgana gives in to the inevitable and waits just down the street for her. “Oh, good, I’ve caught you,” says Elena when she’s had to grab on to a signpost to keep from tripping. “I figured since we’re heading in the same direction we might walk together for a bit.”

“Of course.”

Elena manages to last about fifteen steps before she brings it up. “So, you and Gwaine have been getting quite cozy lately.”

“Have we?”

“Morgana.” Morgana glances over to find Elena unwontedly serious, arms crossed. “It’s okay, you know? Whatever is okay. And I’m not going to tell Vivian. I just wanted to check that everything’s okay, since I don’t think I’m hallucinating if Leon mentioned it too.”

Morgana trips on nothing. “Leon _what_?”

“Leon mentioned that Gwaine told him he was busy with you when Leon was trying to schedule a lad’s night a few weeks ago, and asked me if I’d heard about it.” Which might mean he’s asked everyone else about it. Except perhaps Vivian, they all generally know better than that, but it still puts another spin on nobody teasing them about Gwaine’s arm around her at the pub tonight. “Does that mean there’s something going on, then?”

Morgana prepares herself to say “no” and weather that storm, but what comes out instead is “I have no idea.”

*

Rehearsals go on, and the maestro brings them up to twice a week as they get closer to the concert and the last of Merlin’s edits come through. Elena doesn’t tell anyone about Morgana and Gwaine, or at least nobody else brings it up and Vivian and Gwen at least would be sure to, in their own ways, but she does watch them whenever they’re together at rehearsal, and it’s likely only the fact that everyone’s busy wondering what’s going on in the cello section (and some sort of feud going on between their best trumpet and their best French horn, but Morgana generally doesn’t concern herself with the brass) that keeps everyone from figuring it out. Arthur and Merlin are back together for certain, as far as anyone can tell, but things are still awkward, and Morgana’s hoping that the performance will get everything back to normal, or as normal as they ever are with those two around.

Two weeks before the concert, when Morgana’s so sick of Fauré and the Handel they’re using to fill out their program that she could beat her head against a wall, Morgause calls.

“Morgana, darling,” she says when Morgana picks up the phone, sitting up in Gwaine’s bed and mouthing her sister’s name when he murmurs a question. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

“You’ve been on tour. How was Moscow?”

“It was lovely. I love playing Rachmaninoff.” Morgause pauses. “You could have come, you know. There are concert halls that would be glad to have you, unlike Uther.”

“Perhaps next time. You’re playing in Tokyo in the spring, aren’t you?” Gwaine sits up behind her and she waves a hand, trying to stop him before he starts whatever he’s got in mind. It’s been at least a month since she talked to Morgause, and longer since they talked for more than five minutes. He just props his head on her shoulder to listen to her conversation and grins at her when she shrugs him off.

“I’m doing a few concerts in that area of the world, yes, and then to America for the summer. In the meantime, though, I wanted to ask why you hadn’t told me that Camelot is doing a world premiere! The gossip has finally reached us in Russia and I must say I was surprised. Usually Uther is so … traditional.”

“It hadn’t occurred to me, honestly. A friend of mine wrote it.”

“Ah yes. Merlin, wasn’t it? I imagine he’ll be the darling of the arts press for a while.”

“Possibly. Mostly he’s doing it to get his boyfriend back, the romantic sod.” Morgana does her best to change the subject, as Morgause barely tolerates Arthur and dislikes Merlin for reasons best known to herself. “When will you be in England next? It’s been a while.”

“That’s why I called, actually. Once I heard about the premiere I knew I had to come back for it, and I’m not playing anything for a week before and after the concert. An excellent time for a visit, I would say.”

“I’ll be glad to see you.” Gwaine, who’s luckily moved across the bed to find his boxers, snorts quietly. “I can get you a comp ticket, if you’d like. Not the best seats, but you needn’t pay for that on top of travel.”

“Nonsense. I’ll be right up in the front. And besides, I’ll be needing two. I told Cenred about this and he wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Her voice lowers, and Morgana can hear her smiling. “He’s looking forward to seeing you again, Morgana. Should I be arranging a lunch for the two of you?”

“I don’t need you to set me up dates,” she snaps, and doesn’t need to turn around to feel Gwaine freeze and start staring. “And Cenred should ask me out himself anyway.”

Morgause, as always, is unruffled. “I just want to see you happy. And anyway, he’s going to be a guest conductor in Oslo in the spring, and he’s looking for a violin soloist. I thought you might want to talk about that, if not a date.”

An opportunity to headline a concert isn’t to be sniffed at, but Morgana can’t bring up much enthusiasm for it if it means she’ll be dealing with Cenred. “I’ll consider it. But no, no dates. Not this time.”

“Morgana, have you got a boyfriend without telling me?”

That’s impossible to answer, not least because she doesn’t really know, but even worse with Gwaine in the room. “Cenred is slimy either way, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me. You’re my sister, after all.”

Morgana looks around Gwaine’s bed, sheets nearly pulled out from where they’re anchored because they constantly fight for the blankets, and at the amount of her clothes on the floor, and tries to remember how many nights she’s spend in her own flat in the past two weeks. “Maybe. It’s not fourth form, things aren’t that cut-and-dried.”

For all she and Morgause aren’t very close, can’t be with Morgause traveling so much and Morgana insisting on maintaining connections with Camelot because she cares about her brother and her friends, if not so much her father, Morgause still knows her well enough to know the subject isn’t a welcome one. “He’s there, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Gwaine’s across the room now, so he can probably only hear her half of the conversation.

“I’ll let you go, then. Call me soon? I’m just enjoying Moscow for the next week before my second concert, and then I’ll be flying to you, so we’ll work out those details.”

“Definitely. Lovely to hear from you, Morgause.”

“You as well,” says Morgause, and hangs up.

Morgana gives herself a few moments to marshal her expression before turning around. Gwaine is lounging in the doorway, still wearing nothing but boxers. “Morgause is coming to the concert?”

“Yes. I think she’s hoping it’s a disaster so she gets to see Uther and Merlin humiliated at the same time.” She puts down her mobile and flops back onto his bed. They’d intended to sleep late, but apparently that’s not meant to be. “I would be far more glad to hear from her if Cenred weren’t coming.” Gwaine doesn’t move, his eyebrows still raised like he’s waiting for something. “He’s a creep, even if he does want to give me a show in Oslo, and why did you get out of bed? Neither of us has to be anywhere for hours.”

“Your sister has awful taste in men, apparently,” says Gwaine, but he relaxes and comes back to bed so the worst is probably over.

“Runs in the family.” He rolls over on top of her and bites her shoulder in protest. She smacks the back of his head. “She’s going to spend the whole time she’s in town asking who I’m dating, since I turned him down,” she adds. “And this on top of Merlin and Arthur still failing completely at talking about their problems, and Uther continuing to force me into lunch … can I just hide here until the concert?”

Gwaine leers. “I’ll keep you here as my own personal sex slave. You’d look very fetching in those gauzy—”

“My God, it’s like feminism never happened.” She kisses him before he can come up with a retort, and if he kisses a little harder and she holds on a little tighter than usual, she’s not going to be the one to mention it.

*

The night of the concert, backstage is pandemonium.

Merlin takes one look at the stack of programs, his name on it in a large, bold font as well as a bio that Morgana wrote on his behalf, and goes to the nearest bathroom to throw up. Arthur just stares at the program like he’s surprised it’s Merlin’s symphony after all, but he looks more thoughtful than upset so she leaves him be. Everyone else is fluttering around, excited and nervous. Camelot Symphony always makes good crowds, but doing the first premiere they’ve done since the year after Uther became conductor means quite a lot of people, and press, and more than a few prospective publishers and commissioners coming to chat with Merlin, though everyone’s careful not to mention that as if he can hear them from the bathroom.

Morgana stands off towards the edge of the cacophony, playing Merlin’s most impossible run of notes for the first violins over and over until Vivian gives her a dirty look and moves away, at which point she gives up and leans against the wall. Gwaine swings by a few seconds later, like that was some sort of cue. “Shouldn’t you be holding Merlin’s hair back or something?” she inquires.

“Lancelot and Gwen are cooing at him.” Morgana snorts. “How was dinner with Morgause?”

“A blatant attempt to get me together with Cenred, as he ‘just happened’ to run into us. There is something really wrong with her, since she used to date him.” She takes a deep breath and carefully doesn’t look at him when she speaks, though she catches Elena’s raised eyebrows, which isn’t much better. “I finally gave in and told her I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh? Do I get to meet him?”

One of these days, she’s going to strangle him. “Maybe later, if you’re very good. I’ve always wanted to have a threesome.” Then, because she owes him fair warning: “Morgause is going to want to interrogate you at some point.”

“And why would Morgause want to do that?”

Morgana sighs and turns to face him fully. The green room before a concert isn’t the best place to have this conversation, but at least nobody is overtly looking on. “Because she does it to everyone I date and has done ever since we reconnected. She thinks it’s her big-sister duty or something. Do you mind, that I told her?”

Gwaine just tilts his head, and normally he’s so easy to read it’s laughable but she can’t quite figure out what’s going through his head now. “Boyfriend?”

She sets her jaw, because for all it’s unacknowledged, it’s impossible not to realize they aren’t just fucking anymore. “Yes.”

“Okay then,” says Gwaine, and before she can tell him exactly how inadequate an answer that is, Catrina’s at the door to the green room, shouting at them all to get their instruments and get on the stage, ten minutes to the maestro’s entrance, and she loses him in the crowd.

She finds Arthur instead, and they walk to the stage together, neither of them saying much. “Merlin will be fine,” she says when he looks offstage one too many times before they separate to go to their seats. “Don’t fuck up the third movement, he may leave you.” Arthur rolls his eyes, but at least he’s stopped looking quite so shell-shocked, so she’ll call it a win.

By the time the lights go down and the maestro walks out to applause, everyone is quiet and tense. Merlin is so pale and shaky she’s half-afraid he might faint, Arthur’s tense, and the rest of their friends seem nearly as nervous, and the Dragon Symphony isn’t even until the second half of the concert. Uther’s impassive, but Morgana knows after so many years when he’s nervous, and his expression while they tune is very telling.

The first half of the concert goes by in a haze. They play _Pelleas_ better than they have before, even nailing the triplets in the damn “Fileuse,” and the Handel goes well even if Morgana is a bit bored by it. The maestro goes off stage and it’s the interval, only a short one since it isn’t a terribly long concert.

Morgana spends most of the interval looking through all her notes on Merlin’s score, although she woke up a few days ago dreaming one of the melodies from the slow movement, so it likely doesn’t need much more practice. Gwaine is chatting with Percival over in the percussion section, but he looks over at her every once in a while, and she suspects that if Merlin’s symphony goes well then they’ll be having quite a long discussion after the concert, once she gets rid of Morgause and Cenred.

Out of the habit all of them have developed over this round of rehearsals, she looks to the cello section a minute or two before the maestro is due to come back out from the wings, to find Arthur and Merlin holding hands. She blinks, but there they still are, Arthur obviously giving one of his inspirational speeches that she can never help laughing at and Merlin staring up at him starry-eyed and with a bit of color in his cheeks.

Someone hisses time, breaking the moment, so Morgana checks the tuning on her violin and watches everyone file back to their seats, Arthur one of the last, with one last squeeze to Merlin’s hand. Things are going to be okay, it seems, and she looks at Gwaine to find him looking back, grinning and tilting his head in Merlin’s direction. She grins back and opens her music to the first page as the lights go down again and they all shuffle themselves into looking professional as Uther returns to the stage.

Morgana got over stage fright at the age of thirteen and hasn’t dealt with it since, other than her final performance at university, but she’s nervous as the maestro raises his baton, more on Merlin’s behalf than her own. There’s a moment’s hush from the audience, and then they begin.

The first movement is what Merlin called the “firebreathing movement” a few times when Morgana and Gwaine were transcribing for him, all sweeping strings and punches of brass and crashes of percussion that make Percival grin from his place behind the timpani. It takes a while for it to resolve itself into a melody, and even then it’s cut off often and thrown from instrument to instrument. Morgana keeps her eyes on the maestro as much as she can, following as he pushes them on, louder and louder until it cuts off into the four beats of silence that everyone tried to talk Merlin out off, which now just feel like taking a huge breath, and she can almost feel the audience doing it on cue before Percival rolls the timpani and then the melody finally comes in properly, a wall of sound, brass-led with lush chords. They wind it to a close, taking it through variations of the melody and an ending section that leaves the brass and woodwinds panting.

Uther holds his baton up for a few seconds after the last splash of sound, letting them collect themselves and turn their pages for the slow movement, and then they begin.

The slow movement is undoubtedly Merlin’s masterpiece, and equally undoubtedly his unabashed love song to Arthur. He muttered some rubbish about a dragon locked in a dungeon when Gwaine and Morgana gave him grief for it, but it’s obvious to anyone with ears what it is. The strings start it, cellos and violas with the melody and the violins playing low and quiet, before the brass comes in and swells out the sound. Uther’s finally found the right tempo for it, just this side of too-slow so he almost has to pull them off each note and the rests linger like they’re waiting. The instruments all climb through their registers until the last chord sings out and holds in the silence for a moment afterwards.

Morgana lets Alice turn their pages and sneaks a look at Gwaine while Uther raises his baton for the third movement. He’s looking again, but he doesn’t bother smiling, just gives her a serious look before looking back to the maestro, and she looks as well just in time to make the downbeat. The third movement is almost relaxing after the second, for all it’s the showiest and has actually difficulty behind the flash of it. She plays every cascade of notes she’s been running for weeks as clean and crisp as she can, matched by everyone in the section when far too many rehearsals had the mess of notes turning into soup. Arthur plays the solo section perfectly for the first time, and Merlin beams at him before coming in again at the end, all of them gearing up for the broadening of the end, big brass coming back in again and Percival glowing with sweat behind the timpani and Gwen winding the oboe through it.

When the maestro’s baton goes down at last, there’s a full second of silence, everyone on the stage staring around, surfacing from the performance in the way that only happens after a good one, before the audience bursts into a _roar_ of applause. Morgana takes a deep breath and rests her head on the scroll of her violin for a second before lifting it again to smile and watch Uther bow to an already-standing audience. “Author!” someone starts shouting from the balcony—she thinks it’s Elyan, and then everyone takes it up, including the orchestra, and Merlin goes to the maestro’s platform when he’s beckoned, ears red and a grin stretching all over his face.

It takes three bows and nearly ten minutes for the audience to start filing out into the lobby, leaving the orchestra to its own horribly unprofessional celebration on the stage. The second Merlin goes back to the cello section, red and blotchy all over, Arthur grabs him by the collar and plants a kiss on him, and it starts off a round of hugs all over. Uther stands at the front looking pained and likely wondering if the press in the audience is getting pictures of his orchestra acting like this, but Gaius goes forward to shake his hand and he looks at least a bit less sour.

There’s a tap on Morgana’s shoulder just as Alice is releasing her from their hug and Morgana has just enough time to turn around and see Gwaine grinning like he’s just finished a marathon before he pulls her close and kisses her. She kisses him back until he tries to pull her closer and nearly crushes her violin, at which point she smacks him and he lets her go and laughs. “Just let me put this down, and we can continue,” she says.

There are at least four people staring at them, and she’ll have to explain the whole mess to everyone at wherever they’re all going after the performance later, especially Arthur, as he’s stopped snogging Merlin long enough to look vaguely ill as he stares at her, but she doesn’t much care. She puts her violin down and kisses him again.

*

Pub night, three days after the concert, feels shockingly normal. Gwaine, Freya, and Elyan are playing yet another set of vaguely familiar Irish reels over in the corner. Vivian is off on a rant about an article that dared to call the first half of their performance “trite” while Elena attempts to reason with her and mostly ends up giggling. Most of the lads are talking footie, except Lancelot, who’s telling Gwen and Morgana about the program he’s going to conduct for the youth orchestra, which means Morgana is going to have to teach Mordred fucking Brahms, which she generally avoids at all costs.

Of course, there are some differences from how things have been recently. For one thing, Merlin is sitting on Arthur’s lap, much to the disapproval of some of the older patrons of the bar. Whatever they talked about after the concert seems to have put them right into one of their honeymoon stages and it’s a bit ridiculous how they can’t keep their eyes or hands off each other.

For another thing, though, every time Morgana so much as glances in Gwaine’s direction, even if it’s because she recognizes a tune, she gets everyone at the table looking at her. Merlin’s just amused, now that everyone else has taken over the duty of being horrified, and Elena always grins like they’re a basketful of puppies, but nearly everyone else looks as if they’re trying their best to not badger her with a hundred questions. Arthur called the afternoon after the concert (and neither of them mentioned why the call was made in the afternoon) to harangue her, but other than that there’s mostly been silence on the subject. She suspects she has about two more days of blessed silence before they all get over their shock and wild theorizing and start pestering them for information directly.

Gwaine comes over on a break while Freya is singing something pretty and Gaelic with Elyan to back her up. Everyone, like so many puppets, looks from him to Morgana and back while he surveys the empty chairs, neither of which is next to Morgana, and then Merlin perched on Arthur’s lap. Morgana knows what he’s going to do before he does it, so she braces herself and manages not to wince too hard when he lands in her lap with a grin and a kiss on her hair. “And how is everyone tonight? There was another article about your symphony this morning, Merlin.”

“There’s some publishing interest, and father says he knows of at least two conductors for internationally acclaimed orchestras who have called to ask about it,” says Arthur, unbearably smug, and kisses Merlin briefly on the neck while Merlin squirms.

Morgana spends half a second being exasperated before remembering that she doesn’t have to just sit and glare when Arthur is all over Merlin in public anymore; now she can get revenge, which is much better. So she smirks and does the same to Gwaine, who makes an interested noise while Arthur looks martyred. “Serves you right,” she tells him, and wraps her arms around Gwaine’s middle because otherwise he’s going to fall off her lap.

“I can still revoke my approval of this,” Arthur mutters. Even Vivian snorts at that.

“Yes, I live for your approval.” Gwaine laughs and shifts on her lap. She pokes him. “God, you’re heavy, why are you on top of me?”

Gwaine takes a breath, and she knows even without being able to see his face properly that he’s going to say something inappropriate that will lead to all of their friends pondering their sex life, so she heads it off at the pass by letting go of him and half-standing so he falls on the floor. He doesn’t let it faze him, even when Elyan starts laughing as he and Freya finish up the song they’ve been playing, just uses Lancelot’s arm for leverage to get himself off the floor. “I am taking that out on you later,” he informs Morgana, grin firmly in place, and Leon makes some sort of stifled horrified noise while Gwen lets out a giggle.

“I’d like to see you try it.”

“It’s like you’re asking to be spanked.”

“I hate you both,” says Arthur. Merlin starts laughing, so at least one of them recognizes the hypocrisy there. Everyone at the table knows far more than they want to about what those two do in bed.

Before Morgana or Gwaine can muster up an answer to that, Elyan shouts across the pub for Gwaine to “stop flirting with your girlfriend and get your arse over here” while Freya just giggles at the lot of them from behind her hand.

Gwaine puts a theatrical hand over his heart and beams down at Morgana. “Alas, my love, it seems I must leave you to the mercy of these cruel beasts. You’ll have to forgive me.” He catches her hand, kisses her palm, and saunters off, leaving her staring behind him, stuck on the endearment.

When she turns back to the table, Merlin is grinning at her, Arthur has moved on to complaining loudly about a less-than-glowing review of Merlin’s symphony, and everyone is going back to their conversations. “So, what do you think the maestro will have us playing next?” Elena asks, smiling at her.

Behind them, Gwaine is starting up a bastardized version of something she thinks is Mozart that all of the patrons will think is just another Irish reel, probably just to bother her. Everyone else is grabbing onto Elena’s comment and suggesting a multitude of ridiculous ideas, since Uther broke his primary rule for Merlin’s symphony. “Perhaps a medley from _Doctor Who_?” she suggests, and turns around just in time for Gwaine to give her his most obnoxious wink.

She turns back to the table to find Leon making an enthusiastic case for her suggestion and ignores how Merlin keeps smiling at her. Instead, she takes out her phone to text under the table while Lancelot makes a point of not looking at what she’s texting: _we’ll have to revisit the spanking idea later_.

When Gwaine starts laughing after he’s finished the medley, Morgana just smirks. She’ll likely be too sore to sit down at Mordred’s lesson in the morning, but it will be worth it.


End file.
